


The Courage of Fools

by fenfyre (Jace)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jace/pseuds/fenfyre
Summary: Jaskier had a very particular taste in men and the witcher was not in any shape or form someone he would consider going after for a night of shared passion.And yet.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 658





	The Courage of Fools

Jaskier had a very particular taste in men.

Women he adored no matter what shape or size they came in. He was weak for the lovely petite ones he could wrap his arms around and kiss all over, just as much as he loved soft and curvy ladies he wanted to grab and press against his body all night. Rough soldiers with taut muscles and scars all over tan skin, trained and strong enough they could crush him without effort were just as tempting to him as noble ladies, mild and sweet, who let him court and compliment them to his heart's content.

But when it came to men Jaskier had much more specific ideas about what he enjoyed. He liked the kind of soft, mild mannered men he could only find during his performances at different courts around the continent. The kind of men who were soft spoken and considerate and smelled of expensive oils and perfumes, whom he could have flirty banter with, back and forth, before falling into clean, soft sheets with them.

Despite their polite, non-threatening appearance it was often these types of men who had the most interesting and unusual approach to the kind of sexual encounters Jaskier sought out. They were the most likely to show him softly woven rope or delicately fabricated riding crops or polished plugs of steel or oiled wood. In short, their company was pleasant and their interests versatile enough to keep Jaskier coming back.

He knew what he enjoyed and that was women of all kinds as well as those very specific types of men he had made nothing but fond memories with.

Geralt of Rivia was the complete opposite of the kind of man Jaskier liked to pursue. He was neither mild mannered nor soft spoken and if he was not forced - usually by Jaskier - to take a bath at the occasional inn they were staying at, he carried with him the stench of blood and sweat and horse that could not be completely washed away even with the hottest water and most rigorous scrubbing.

The only banter Jaskier could have with the Witcher consisted of light hearted jabs from his side that were either shut down by persistent silence or returned with comments so callused they left Jaskier aching and the only sheets he could ever hope to fall into with the man, should it ever take them that far in whatever strange spur of the moment, would be the worn down, stained ones of the inns they could afford. Though a thin bedroll on the forest ground next to a dying fire was far more likely, considering how they spent most of their nights between the shelter of small towns along the road.

No, the witcher was not in any shape or form someone Jaskier would usually consider going after for a night of shared passion.

And yet.

And yet there was no denying that behind the grime and stench of life on the road Geralt was an objectively attractive man. As much as these things could be objectified, at least.

He was tall and well built with a rough, handsome face that was well suited to his perpetual stubble. Despite public opinion Jaskier thought that the air of mystery and dangerous intrigue around his kind worked out in his favour, each of his measured movements brimming with a subtle kind of danger that could excite and thrill just as much as scare.

Those were all things Jaskier had noticed during his first few days of travel with the man. But he had still been able to rationalize and deny his slowly growing interest and attraction. Had told himself that despite the heated pull he could feel between them at times, fleeting as it was, that Geralt was not the kind of man he wanted to get caught up with. Neither well mannered nor perfume scented. Definitely not easy to leave behind after a night of mutual enjoyment either.

He was rather successful with that line of thought as well, able to keep the simmering interest at bay and his mind focused on other, more important things. Like skillfully crafting the great witcher's next battle hymn to excite the masses.

Until he saw Geralt fight.

Not a monster, of course. He had witnessed those kinds of battles before, no matter how the witcher tried to keep him away from the more dangerous and deadly parts of their missions. He knew the feral strength and ruthless fury Geralt could show, knew how those were only amplified by the contents of the small flasks on the man's belt.

He had seen the beast that lived within the witcher come out to play with the most disgusting creatures they had encountered, had seen him triumph and come out on top of every single battle. And while that had been arousing to watch on some level it had only ever helped his own agenda, making himself believe that he could never lie with a man like Geralt. Not because of what the trials had done to him but because he was so much more than Jaskier ever learned to handle, in every possible way.

But the fight that he witnessed one spring morning after they had just finished packing up their bedrolls and readied themselves for another day of travel was not against a monster. It was not Geralt grunting and cursing as he sliced his way to decapitating some lurking fiend. No, this crisp spring morning Geralt was facing humans.

Even that had happened quite a few times already, bandits dumb enough to try and take it on with a witcher were jumping them every few weeks. But these fights were quick and bloody and efficient. This time though Geralt was not facing a couple of half starved idiots. This time he was up against soldiers. At least half a dozen of them.

The men had closed in on them suddenly enough to make Jaskier jump where he was packing Roach's sabble bag to the side of the clearing. He screeched out an embarrassingly echoing noise. But Geralt's sword was already drawn before the first one could strike. The witcher parried with a flurry and struck down the first of them within a breath.

Instead of letting the death amongst themselves deter them the soldiers fell into a synchronized defensive stance that was as smooth and practised as their approach had been. Just like the first strike that had only been parried by inhuman reflexes. They encircled the remains of the campsite, crowding around Geralt without getting too close to his range, dry twigs snapping under their supple leather boots as they positioned themselves.

Geralt did not seem impressed by their attack in the slightest, standing tall over the body of the already fallen one, the steel sword he had drawn at a seconds notice weighing heavy in his hand as he assessed the men around him with keen eyes.

The moment of stillness that settled across the clearing was eerie and filled with an anticipatory tension. Jaskier barely dared to breathe, let alone reach down to the dagger secured at his belt.

The finely balanced and well kept weapon had been a gift from the witcher who had struck a bargain with a blacksmith further south after getting rid of an infestation in his basement for him. Geralt had thrown it at Jaskier afterwards, grumbling something about at least protecting himself and carrying his weight if he insisted on prancing along.

It was heart warming, in a way, to have the famed White Wolf concerned about his safety. But the dagger did not do much safe keeping at his belt, not when Jasier was too afraid to even draw it lest he direct the attention of their attackers towards himself. Right now they were comfortably focused on Geralt. Well-trained, massive Geralt who could fell them with a single strike. There was no need to remind them of the existence of a lanky bard a few paces to their left.

There was a wordless signal between the soldiers, a shifting gaze, a subtle nod. But Geralt had already caught on to them and when the two men behind him moved to attack, swift and precise, he easily dodged their combined strikes and struck both of them down with one single blow of his massive sword. Then he whirled around to parry a third attack that he elegantly countered.

Three bodies tumbled to the ground, motion- and lifeless. Their dark blood glistened in the morning sun as it splattered across whispy blades of grass and seeped into the dry earth.

The remaining three men changed up their formation in a heartbeat, spacing out and crowding around the witcher in a generous half circle. Instead of facing them head on and meeting them in an attack of his own Geralt shifted as well, crouching and watching, assessing.

As the remaining fighters circled and judged each other, neither able to gain any ground without getting into their opponent's range as well, Jaskier understood what was so different about this fight. Why he could not look away from the tense dance of blades, away from Geralt meeting the strikes of his opponents with a kind of elegant flow he had never before witnessed within the man.

It was the first time Jaskier saw the witcher go up against actual combat trained opponents.

Most monsters did not fight with any strategy that went beyond their hunting instincts and groups of bandits in the woods did seldom show any signs of tactical or technical finesse. These opponents Geralt had to face differently. He had to strike down monsters with a feral tenacity to match and cut through throngs of thieves and would be assassins with the same unpolished aggression they attacked him with. A beast going up against beasts, snarling and grunting and ever victorious.

It was only against trained opponents that the underlying elegance and technical skill he had been trained with had a chance to shine through. The elaborate footwork tapped out against the dry forest ground as they circled each other, the sway of his body as he shifted his weight, testing his opponents' awareness. The clean, quick work he had made of his previous attackers, making good use of the gaps and mistakes in their defence.

This was a whole other spectacle than anything Jaskier had seen from the witcher before. Strangely elevated compared to the hacking and slaying he usually saw, exuding a pull he could not shake as he watched on. The moments of smooth, elegant movement fascinated him just as much as the moments of stillness, leaving his mouth dry with more than just fear.

But even though Geralt had good standing against the soldiers, cutting their numbers more than in half within a minute of the fight, his opponents were quick to assess the situation themselves. They had to be aware the chances of making it out of this forest alive were dwindling more with each comrade who was struck down, just like they had to be aware of the command their leader must have given them.

If they could not finish the mission the least they could do was make it easy for the next troop to be sent after the witcher to succeed. Jaskier could think of one way more these men could make their travels harder and all but strand them in these woods.

He was already moving when he saw the eyes of one of the soldiers flick over to him and Roach. When the nod followed he was prepared. The dagger had switched over from his hip to his hand long before the attacker had chance to step up to them, Jaskier's lanky body the only thing standing between the mare and the soldier on his mission. His knees were knocking together with nerves but he kept his position.

"You will not lay a single finger on the horse!"

At least his voice was steady when he called out the words, shifting his weight to crouch down in a more favourable position as he gripped the leather wrapped handle of the dagger tightly.

Somewhere at the peripherals of his focused vision Jaskier was aware of blurry movement, the sound of steel against steel echoing across the clearing. But it was hard to notice much of anything that lay beyond the soldier currently facing him down, a slanted grin on his tan face. There was obvious amusement in the way those lips pulled into a grin, revealing crooked teeth. Amusement at Jaskier's unimposing presence and the small weapon in his fist.

"Everyone knows it is not the size of your sword that matters but the passion that you wield it with!"

Instead of throwing some kind of jab at him in turn the soldier switched to the attack just a breath later, not even having the decency to banter and give Jaskier some more time to mentally prepare himself for the fight that followed.

Before he knew it he was stumbling out of the way of a heavy blow, barely avoiding his foot catching on an upturned root. His balance was shaken momentarily and the attacker used the opportune moment to swing at him a second time. The stroke was hard enough to make Jaskier feel the rush of air against his cheek where he ducked underneath the steel blade. 

"I must admit", he laughed nervously, swaying aside to bring more distance between them, "that is quite passionate! You must be an exceptional lover!"

He evaded one more strike before stumbling further backwards, out of reach. That manoeuvre only gave him a moment to breathe and notice the rapid rhythm his heart was beating against his ribs before the soldier closed the gap between them with a single, large step.

Jaskier's eyes flicked around, taking in the situation he had gotten himself into. There was no space for him to retreat, not with Roach calmly grazing right behind his back. How she could peacefully ignore all hell breaking loose around her he would never understand. But she was probably used to much more from her travels with Geralt.

His position left him no choice to switch into offensive and attack if he wanted the horse to make it out of here without injury or worse. So after he had danced out of the trajectory of the next swing instead of retreating further Jaskier closed the distance with a quick jump forward. Dagger firm in hand he took a stab at the unguarded flank of his attacker.

But before steel could slice through leather armour his hand was knocked away by a sharp elbow, another strike of the blade aimed at his shoulder following quickly.

Jaskier did not back down. He avoided the strike once more by swaying to the side and ducking underneath, then aimed the pointed tip of the dagger lower, at the soldier's thigh. This time it connected and he rammed the blade through leather and into hard muscle, making the soldier scream and buckle.

When he pulled out the blade he flicked a streak of ruby red across the forest ground and fell right back into his offensive as he took aim at the flank.

"I'll get you, you little rat!", the soldier howled, his voice thick with pain and fury.

The wound Jaskier could inflict on his side was not as deep as the first one when his attacker grabbed him by the arm and flung him aside with surprising strength. This time Jaskier did trip, whether it was across some roots or his own feet he could not tell, and tumbled to the dusty ground. Scrambling to jump back to his feet he was interrupted when a heavy leather boot connected with his stomach, delivering a sickening kick before stomping down on him to turn him onto his back and keep him pinned to the ground.

Jaskier scrambled, legs kicking and body squirming to free himself, only remembering the knife in his fist when there was already the tip of a sharp sword hovering above his throat. When the soldier paused before finishing him off Jaskier gave another nervous laugh, eyes wide and trained on the glistening steel.

"Now that ... that is a bit too passionate, my friend..."

An echoing cry from behind them distracted the man for just a moment right when he had the opportunity to strike. Enough time for Jaskier to let his hand fly up and ram the dagger right into the soldier's calf. The man let out a colourful curse as he buckled and Jaskier threw his body to the side with all the strength he had left.

Not fast enough.

He heard the blade slide through skin and muscle more than he felt it, the sound of sharp steel cutting through vulnerable flesh. Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness he felt the searing hot line drawn across the side of his neck, felt the blood gushing out, warm and slick as it covered his skin, the thin material of his jacket and shirt.

But despite the warm blood welling up the soldier had missed, the wound he inflicted not enough to end it.

Gasping for breath Jaskier looked up at the man, waiting for the correction, the well aimed killing blow. But it never came.

Before the soldier could regain his balance and finish what he had started a hulking shadow appeared behind him. A glint of steel. A hissing sound of air being cut. Then the wet, violent noise of flesh and bone being sliced clean through.

The soldier's head fell to the dusty ground before his body did, dark blood pooling where he came to lie. Somewhere to his left Roach let out a snort and walked a few steps before falling silent again.

"Jaskier!"

His view of the sunlit canopy above was obscured as Geralt fell to his knees beside him, a large hand coming to press against his neck where the soldier's sword had sliced open his skin. It came away covered in blood and Geralt frowned. His face was beginning to blur a bit.

"Fuck."

"Told you they don’t like Witchers here", Jaskier grinned, trying to keep a levity to his voice but beginning to slur his words just slightly. The frown on Geralt's face deepened.

"Shut up", he grumbled and shifted his weight so he could push his arms underneath Jaskier's body, lifting him with ease. "Do not fall asleep!"

Jaskier tried. But before they even reached Roach the black of Geralt’s leather chest piece expanded and swallowed his entire vision.

~

Somewhere in the fog of his consciousness Jaskier became aware of the surface he was splayed out on shifting and dipping as something heavy settled next to him. That already made him tense up in alarm but when he felt a hand move against his tender neck a sudden, instinctive panic gripped his body and he was moving.

His own arm felt heavy as he slapped the insistent fingers away, arms flailing and throat croaking out broken noises as he squirmed under heavy blankets, fighting to untangle himself. At least until both his wrists were grabbed roughly and pushed back against the flat surface underneath him.

"Stay still", came the familiar growl that gave him pause.

Only then did Jaskier open his eyes, a frightened cold spreading through his chest and all the way into his limbs as he saw Geralt's form hovering above him, blurry at first but growing sharper the more often he blinked.

"In my defence", he began to rush out, only pausing to cough when his throat felt raw and sticky, "the last time you dragged me off to a healer I woke up to a crazy mage grabbing my dick."

Geralt recoiled slightly at the words, eyebrows drawing together as a shadow of confusion passed across his eyes. Maybe the sight was a tad too pleasing to Jaskier but then again it did not happen often that he could catch the great witcher by surprise.

Disappointingly so Geralt caught himself again as fast as he had allowed the bard to confuse him, letting go of Jaskier's wrists and sitting up straight. The skin he had touched prickled unpleasantly once his warmth was gone.

"I need to change your bandages", he explained, picking up a wad of pale cloth from his lap and waving it as if to demonstrate his intent. "No unbidden touching of body parts beyond that."

The memory of what had happened out in the woods came flooding back and Jaskier had to bite his lip not to comment on the unbidden part. It was not all too often he made sure not to put anything going on in his mind into words but something told him he should rather keep his newly awakened desires to himself. For now.

Instead he took in the picture of Geralt awkwardly waving the clean bandages around for a moment longer, then nodded and worked to sit up slowly, baring his neck to offer easy access.

There was still a lingering pain at the side of his neck but it was a far cry from the searing burn he remembered feeling out in the woods after the soldier's sword had sliced him open. It was a miracle he was still breathing at all, the attacker must have missed his target by only a hair.

His attention was pulled away from the memory of almost being killed when Geralt reached out to pull off the old, blood crusted cloth wrapped around his neck.

It was a strange moment, awkwardly intimate in a way Jaskier was not used to when it came to the stoic witcher. The last time he had gotten hurt badly enough to pass out while on the road with Geralt waking up had been a whole different adventure. But this right here, this distant intimacy of baring his neck for surprisingly gentle fingers to press a sturdy piece of cloth against the healing wound and then wrap clean strips of bandages around his throat ... this was one of the few things that had ever left him speechless.

He was unable to do as much as utter a single light hearted comment about the way Geralt avoided his gaze and only found his voice again once the bandages were secured and the witcher scooted away from him.

"How long was I out?", Jaskier finally asked, swallowing to get rid of the thick feeling at the back of his throat that made speaking harder than he remembered. At the edge of the bed Geralt hovered for a moment, looking like he wanted to reach out again and make sure the bandages really were wrapped as tightly as they needed to be. But then he simply wadded up the bloody ones and moved to stand, bringing as much distance between himself and the creaky bed frame as he could.

"Two days", the witcher grunted tossing the ruined pieces of cloth into a basket close to the door. "The wound obviously wasn't fatal but ... you lost a lot of blood."

Jaskier nodded. That would explain the confusion and general dizziness. Maybe even the way his eyes lingered on the broad shape of Geralt's shoulders under his leather armour, the way his waist narrowed temptingly. The way his bottom was hugged by ... no. The bard tore his eyes away, quietly scoffed at himself.

He had a type and that type was definitely not unwashed vagabond who could break him in half without even trying too hard. Geralt of Rivia was no the kind of man he fell for, not the kind of man Jaskier liked to coax into his bed after a laughter filled night of playful seduction.

They had known each other for years and never did Jaskier have anything more than a slight, curious inkling, all weak feelings he could push away without thinking too much about. But that had been before he had seen Geralt fight like that.

Some part of him had always known about the undeniable technical skill Witchers possessed when it came to all matter of combat. But he had never seen the effortless dance and sway with his own eyes before, the elegance and precision Geralt could strike with if only he was challenged at an appropriate level.

Even if he was not Jaskier's type, still not even after what he had witnessed, Geralt was attractive. When he was not forced to use brute strength and violence to defend himself he was even more. He was beautiful.

The silence between them stretched on while Jaskier regarded the witcher's back, watched broad shoulders rise with a slow, measured breath. As if Geralt was preparing to say something to him, something he had to gather courage for. His stance shifted minutely and for a moment it looked like he wanted to turn back, face the bed again and look at the bard when saying the following words.

But then his shoulders dropped, his stance switching, his body turning away.

"I'll have them prepare a bath for you", he said, fast enough to make it sound strange, and strode out of the room with steps that were too quick to not make Jaskier suspicious.

The bard stared at the closed door for a while. Then a pale hand rose to rest against his neck, where the healing wound was protected by a soft layer of cloth.

~

The hot water was a blessing against his aching muscles and Jaskier reclined in the wooden tub, sinking low enough for the softly lapping waves to hit his chest. Sighing deeply he closed his eyes and allowed his head to tip back against the rim. The wood dug into his scalp but he could bear it for now if it meant giving over his entire weight to the experience of the bath.

"Don't get the bandages wet, I'm not changing them again."

When Jaskier peeked out from underneath a lowered eyelid he could see the general silhouette of the witcher lean against a dresser to his right, arms crossed and shoulders drawn up with tension. He allowed his eye to slide shut again.

"Your concern is appreciated", he chirped, sliding just a bit lower into the hot water, just to annoy Geralt who rumbled a noise of dissatisfaction.

It made the corners of Jaskier's mouth twitch into a smirk before he schooled his expression back into serene relaxation. After a few more moments of silence that were only filled by the quiet sounds of moving water as he breathed, Jaskier batted his eyes back open and blinked up at Geralt. 

"Would you mind giving me the soap?", he asked, voice light and playful as he held out a wet hand. There was only a moment of hesitation before Geralt moved to grant him the favour, uncrossing his arms to hand over a simple, unscented bar of white soap. Jaskier could live with that, he was glad they had any soap at all left after their long time travelling the roads in joint solitude.

As he was wetting the bar, turning it over between dripping fingers, he took his time to ponder how to best make sense of what was happening between them. What to make of the strange intimacy that had carried over from their quiet moment in the bedroom all the way to here. Translucent and fragile like glass that had been blown too thinly.

In the end Jaskier decided to risk breaking it. That was how he tended to deal with new situations, after all. It had seldom lead him astray.

"You wanted to say something earlier", he murmured, voice low, almost low enough to be drowned by the soft patter of water as he rubbed the bar of soap along his skin. "Before you left the room. What was it?"

Jaskier did not look up at Geralt as he waited for an answer he was not even sure would come. His eyes remained focused on the task of scrubbing dried sweat and dirt first off one, then the other arm.

He had already moved to his chest and mostly given up on hoping to find out just what the witcher meant to say earlier, when he heard a gruff but sincere:

"Thank you."

The practised movements of his hands stilled and Jaskier could not keep his eyes down anymore. They flicked up to meet Geralt's amber ones for just a moment before the witcher looked away. Strong arms were crossed in front of a broad chest and Jaskier watched it heave with a laboured breath before some more words followed.

"For getting in their way."

The moment was absurdly heartfelt, enough to leave him with only one option. To laugh. His brain was not working fast enough to offer up any other solution.

The noise was too sudden and too loud in the otherwise still room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating still when he had already fallen silent again.

Geralt had never thanked him before.

Not when Jaskier did everything in his power to earn them some coin so they could at least have a proper meal at a tavern even after the witcher had been stood up by a client. Not when Jaskier went out of his way to strike deals and bargains with merchants, deals carried by the charm and politeness Geralt could never muster himself in a thousand years. Not when Jaskier literally saved his life now and again by proving to be just enough of a distraction so the witcher could do what he did best. Not when Jaskier scrubbed his back or cleaned his disgusting weapons or wrote another song about heroism and kindness and duty.

Of all the ways Jaskier had been helpful and literally or figuratively saved Geralt's life over and over again he had never even heard a hint of gratefulness. But now, that he had jumped between the horse and a soldier with nothing but a dagger and some crazy courage to his name, did Geralt care to thank him.

And if he was being honest with himself ... Jaskier understood. He slowly worked on regaining control over his frozen, pained expression and gave a shrug. Casual, like he had not just made the strangest, most uncomfortable sound that had ever come out of his mouth.

"Some grumpy old man once told me not to touch the horse. I think that soldier needed to learn the lesson the hard way", he grinned and for a moment he could swear he saw a flicker of answering amusement crawl across Geralt's face. It disappeared as quickly as it had arrived but that small glimmer was enough to awaken an interesting courage within Jaskier. A playfulness and levity that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Luckily his hands were incredibly skilled in these matters.

He set the bar of soap aside on a small wooden table and leaned back in the tub, water sloshing around him, then settling calmly.

"I think we should celebrate my survival of that daring endeavour", he murmured, pleased to find just a trace of a low purr in his voice. The sound sure made Geralt look over at him again, face impassive but eyes gleaming. Jaskier paused for a moment, letting the wordless suggestion hover in the humid air between them as he drew lazy patterns across the steaming surface of the water. His spindly fingers crawled across the reflections like water striders on a still lake.

After a moment of heavy, suggestive silence he looked up again and cocked one of his eyebrows just so, feeling more brave than the moment he had stepped in front of Roach.

"Come join me."

The reaction was not immediate and the moments crawling by without any answer at all, during which Geralt only stared at him with that unreadable, hard expression of his, Jaskier slowly lost all the courage he had been brimming with before. His heart began to speed up the longer the air was still and silent between them, picking up a harsh rhythm against his chest. Part of him expected the vibration to carry across the bath water in gentle ripples but when he looked down it were only his fingers causing waves to travel across the surface.

He never got a real answer.

What he did get though was Geralt pushing away from the dresser with his arms crossed and his face almost cast entirely in shadow. The witcher stepped forward, into the light of the flickering candles strewn around the tub, and grabbed the collar of his blood stained shirt.

White hair turned even messier once Geralt had yanked the shirt over his head and carelessly dropped it next to the tub. Then he reached down to grab his belt and open the buckle with a telling, metallic noise that pulled Jaskier out of his stillness.

With a panicked little whimper he sank deeper into the water, pressing his back against the wooden wall of the tub as he looked up at Geralt and the quick, efficient way he undressed himself.

That, too, was one of the things Jaskier had witnessed countless times by now. Had seen Geralt undress to care for wounds or step into a bath or lake or river. Had even undressed the witcher himself a few times when Geralt was too injured to do so himself. Or too stubborn.

But like the sword fight against the soldiers this was different. This was a silent agreement to come bathe with Jaskier in a less than innocent way. After all he had to have noticed the tone in the invitation, had to have seen the cocked eyebrow, the barely contained smirk, the smug attitude.

This time this silent undressing meant Geralt wanted him. And that made Jaskier's heart beat even faster.

Calloused hands paused at the whimper, those amber eyes flicking down at him and Jaskier felt like he would melt to become one with the hot water around him. There was no question asked, just that motionless, and yet the answer was clear.

Jaskier swallowed and nodded.

A moment later the belt buckle was opened and the leather pants pushed down muscular thighs. As always the witcher did not wear any undergarments.

A heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water shot into Jaskier's cheeks and he had to avert his gaze, directing it down at the reflecting surface that was no longer rippled by the lazy movements of his fingers. He had been so brave just a few moments ago and now he could not even stand to look at the same naked body he had seen and touched dozens of times already.

Not when his mind was already running away with it, imagining what that already impressive cock would look like when it was hard for him, what it would feel like between his slick fingers. What the taste would be like on his tongue. And what else Geralt might allow him to do with it...

His gaze was still cast down and his face still burning when Geralt stepped even closer and moved to climb into the tub.

As he slowly lowered himself into the water it rose up higher and higher. Jaskier had to move and straighten himself more so his bandages would not get soaked and by doing that, by grabbing the edges of the tub and changing his position enough, his eyes quickly flicked up to regard Geralt who was settling in comfortably.

The tub was not especially large and their legs tangled, brushing together, and the simple touches were enough to send a hot shiver down his spine.

After the witcher had settled in the water and the surface slowly began to calm down and smooth out neither of them moved. Jaskier's eyes were glued to the broad chest covered in damp hair, the thick arms resting on the edge of the tub. His gaze wandered up to the dip of a collarbone, the strong neck, the pronounced jaw line. But he shied away from wandering further and meeting Geralt's eyes at the last moment, rather flicking his eyes down again to rest on the subtly dancing reflections on the water's surface.

Not for the fist time he cursed himself, cursed his loose lips for being so much faster than his mind. Had he stopped to think about this situation for longer than a few seconds instead of acting on a fleeting whim he never would have dared to speak such an invitation. Let alone considered the possibility that he would be taken up on it. This turn of events was more than unlikely.

Yet here they were, sharing a tub, bathing together. Or rather sitting in hot water waiting what the other would do.

The heat in Jaskier's cheeks grew more intense the longer they sat in silence, painfully aware of Geralt's intense gaze on his body. The tension in his chest had grown unbearably tight and he was about to let it loose with some horrible, tasteless joke, when Geralt moved.

It was a subtle motion, a gentle shift of his weight as he slowly reached out with one calloused hand and dipped it into the steaming water, reaching and searching, until he had found the limp fingers of Jaskier hand and took them between his own. The tug was gentle but it did manage to break the stupor the bard had been caught in since the witcher had joined him in the tub.

His eyes flicked up in a mix of disbelief and hope and the expression he was met with loosened the tension in his shoulders.

It was not much, a barely cocked eyebrow, the hint of a smirk. But it was enough to let Jaskier know that his worries had been unfounded. Geralt would not have followed his invitation if he were not open to the possibilities it awarded them with and the faintly curious twinkle in his eyes spoke to that truth.

The gentle tug was not enough to pull him anywhere, was barely more than a silent invitation in itself. Yet Jaskier followed it willingly, let himself be lead until he floated forward. The water quietly splashed around him as he resituated himself. He came to slide through all the way, until he could rest against that broad chest, bodies brushing together as he settled in and moved to straddle Geralt's lap.

His heart was still pounding in his chest but no trace of fear remained as his eyes flicked down. He licked his lips.

Part of Jaskier wished that Geralt would keep initiating. That a broad, calloused hand would find its way to his neck and pull him down so his lips could be claimed. But once Jaskier was seated firmly in his lap Geralt let go of his hand, fingers wandering down and travelling through the water until he could splay his hand against Jaskier’s hip.

Then he leaned back against the edge of the tub and settled in to wait. Obviously that one beckoning pull was all he was willing to do and would leave the remaining distance between them for Jaskier to bridge on his own. Without a hand coaxing him, only a cocked eyebrow and a subtle smirk to go on. A silent challenge. One that Jaskier rose up to meet.

Throwing his arms around that strong neck was easy, easier than he ever would have anticipated when he considered doing anything like this with the witcher before. But the once distant fantasies soon faded away against the very real feeling of warm skin under his fingertips and the brush of a nose against his own as he leaned in.

There was a soft crackling sensation in the air between them before their lips touched, one that reminded Jaskier of magic and made his heart throb behind his ribs. But Jaskier did not hesitate, not anymore. The remaining distance melted away as he sank lower and deeper until he could gently touch his lips against Geralt's slightly parted ones.

That first kiss between them was soft and gentle. Much more so than Jaskier would have expected kissing Geralt of Rivia would be like. In his occasional fantasies he had imagined snarling and growling, teeth sinking into his lips and rough hands grabbing at his body. He had expected greed and passion. Not this soothing kind of patience that sank deep into his chest, warming him even more than the bath water did.

All throughout the gentle kiss Geralt remained surprisingly passive. He did not hold back completely, tilted his head into the kiss and moved his lips against Jaskier's, but he did remain mostly still, allowing Jaskier to set the pace he desired. And the pace Jaskier desired was a slow one. At least for now.

At least while he explored the feeling of the witcher's lips against his own, surprisingly smooth and warm as they moved with each other, shifting and gliding and indulging with only the occasional, playful flick of tongue Jaskier liked to slip in. Whenever he dragged the very tip across Geralt's lower lip the witcher answered with a quiet huff or a groan, maybe with sinking his fingers deeper into the skin of Jaskier's hip. But nothing else.

As he kept exploring and indulging, growing more playful and bold with each passing minute, Jaskier became aware of Geralt's growing arousal. He felt the shape of that cock he had admired just a few moments ago grow stiff against his backside. Then there were the choked off noises Geralt made low in his throat when Jaskier shifted his weight and rubbed back against the growing hardness.

After the third or fourth shift Geralt’s second hand dipped into the water to grab Jaskier's hip as well, secure but not tightly enough to leave any marks. He felt an embarrassing amount of disappointment that melted away once Geralt began to rock Jaskier's hips back against his stiff cock, still so gentle but very much insistent.

A shaky moan escaped him, breathed right against Geralt's lips, and the witcher did not waste the opportunity to deepen the kiss and slowly, carefully slide his tongue into Jaskier's mouth.

But the way he did it was so sweet and curious, a playful invitation that Jaskier could no deny. He let himself sink deeper into the kiss, humming and sighing as he relaxed his body against Geralt's even more.

Just then the witcher rocked him down against his length and Jaskier could feel the entire, stiff shape of Geralt's cock pressed against his backside. The feeling terrified and excited him at the same time. Part of him wanted to be impaled on that monster, wanted to feel the delicious burn and satisfying stretch it would provide him while another part, maybe the more rational one, feared for his life.

Not that the rational part of his mind had any say in the matter for much longer. Not when the next time Geralt licked into his mouth he rocked Jaskier's hips down even harder and Jaskier lost himself in the sensation and pressed back against the impressive length. He might not be able to take it right away but oh, that would not stop him from enjoying this thoroughly.

Unwinding one arm from where it was still thrown around Geralt's neck Jaskier reached behind himself and slowly dipped his fingers, then his hand and forearm into the water, until he could wrap his fingers around Geralt's cock. It was hot and hard with amore than satisfying girth. When Jaskier slowly tried to stroke up and down he felt a throbbing pulse underneath the tips of his fingers. A feeling that filled him with a cocky glee.

The witcher groaned into his mouth, lost in the feeling of Jaskier's hand squeezing him tightly until the bard eased up on him and loosened his grip. When Jaskier opened his eyes he could see glistening amber watching him from underneath lowered silver lashes. There was a lazy heat in those eyes that made him squirm where he was seated and it was enough to send hot shocks of excitement through his body and all the way down into his own, twitching cock.

Never before had anyone looked at him quite like that, with this much greed and hunger yet so much patience and curiosity. It was entirely possible Geralt might just sit back and watch him handle the situation, give him free reign of how to continue. And Jaskier could have.

Despite the awkward angle of his arm he could have continued right where he started, could have stroked Geralt, tight and fast, until the witcher spilled between his fingers right into the bath water. But that was not what Jaskier wanted. Not everything he wanted, at least.

So he pulled back from where his lips were still caressing Geralt's until he could take a good look at the witcher lounging in the tub with him. Giving the perfect dick between his fingers one last squeeze he let go, which did not reward him with any reaction. Even when he wiggled his hips and rose up from Geralt’s lap those strong hands did not stop him, did not pull him back down.

But Jaskier did not move very far. He pulled away just enough, shifting backwards until he could let himself sink back down, deeper into the water, back where he had been seated before. Only this time he could line up his own excited length with the witcher's.

He shuddered as he reached down and brushed a thumb against his own hardness, fingers struggling to span both of their cocks equally. There was a lot of room he could not cover, a wide gap between the tips of his fingers and his thumb. But luckily Geralt did not leave him to struggle on his own.

One large, calloused hand let go of his hip and instead moved to meet him where he was trying to grasp them both. It easily wrapped around his knuckles, bridging the gap and squeezing his hand, and their dicks. The glide was delicious and made Jaskier's head spin, his length so sensitive after not having been touched during the entirety of their heated kiss.

The witcher did not say anything, nor make any kind of noise as he slowly began to stroke up and down, taking Jaskier's smaller hand with him as he set the rhythm. The sensation of his own and Geralt's hands offset against the smooth length of a cock pressed against his own made Jaskier shudder and melt, falling forward against that broad chest.

The water sloshed dangerously around them as his hips bucked up into the tight channel their hands created, adding even more friction to the slow up and down of their fingers. Jaskier whimpered, buried his face against the warm skin of Geralt's neck, but did not stop moving his hips or his hand.

The last time he had been able to relieve himself had been quick and mechanical, quite a few tavern stops ago, and his body was already burning with pleasure. Now that he had started focusing at least some attention on himself it got even harder to hold back. Where he had been concentrating on stroking only Geralt before it had been much easier to tune out his own need.

It was just too good. Not just the hot, tight squeeze of fingers around his cock or the exciting glide of another hard length pressed against his own. It was the hot, sloshing water pattering onto the floor, the low light of the candles in the room, the scent of soap and lingering sweat and aromatic herbs. The aftertaste of taboo lingering on his tongue when he considered how he was doing this with, rutting up into the hand and against the cock of, his best friend.

The thought made Jaskier's hips buck harder and he had to stifle a moan against salty skin, teeth digging into Geralt's muscular neck.

The calloused hand that was not working his leaking dick travelled up from Jaskier’s hip to stroke along his spine. All the way up to his neck and the back of his head it moved until Geralt could wrap him up in a tight hug, pressing Jaskier's body against his own as if to secure him.

Then he sped up the strokes of his fingers between their bodies, dragging Jaskier's hand into the changed rhythm and sending the bard crying and moaning into his neck.

The pressure low in his abdomen grew when he heard Geralt grunt and Jaskier sighed out a quiet but desperate "Oh ... oh Geralt, I'm ... I..."

He might have said the witcher's name a thousand times before but never had it tasted this good, never had he uttered it in such reverence and desperation. No other name had ever felt as satisfying to moan.

Nor had any other voice wrapped around his name ever turned him on as much as the husky, almost choked "Jaskier" Geralt breathed into his ear.

In fact, that low murmur was the beginning of the end for him. It made his abdomen pull tight as sweet pleasure spread through him, hips working faster and harder into the rhythm of their hands as he began to tip over into mindlessness and chase his peak. The sound of sloshing water mingled with his own harsh breaths and the gasped iterations of the witcher's name falling from his lips again and again even as he pressed his forehead against that damp neck, squeezed his eyes shut to better focus on the sensations.

Rough fingers carded through his wet hair, rubbing up against his scalp almost soothingly, as if to coax him to go on and let go.

Jaskier could feel the witcher's muscles flex under his own body, a thumb was moved to swipe across his sensitive tip, his name was said again, wrapped in that beautiful voice, that husky, desperate tone.

Jaskier came with a cry loud enough to be heard downstairs but he did not care. Not when searing pleasure rushed through his veins and moments later Geralt's hips thrust up against him and he could feel that length twitch against his own as it shot hot seed into the bath water.

~

Their aftermath was calm and drawn out, much more so than Jaskier ever would have expected when he imagined himself being with the witcher. Part of him had braced for being pushed away and left alone in the tub with Geralt pulling away from him as soon as they were done.

What he got instead was patience and warmth, calloused hands stroking up and down his back and the occasional grunt of satisfaction as Geralt relaxed into the slowly cooling water.

And as Jaskier lay there, boneless and spent, it was like a dam breaking in his mind, behind his teeth, allowing all the mindless chatter to spill over and fill the luxurious silence between them. Seldom had he experienced being choked by his own nerves and need as he had when he rutted against Geralt’s hand and now that it was over the familiar habit was returning to him like an old friend.

He talked about everything and nothing. About the noble families in these areas, the king who disliked Witchers, the fisherman he had met just a few towns over years and years ago and his beautiful wife. The songs they liked to hear in the taverns in these parts and the strange way the people pronounced certain words. The rituals they had that tied into the moon cycle and that must have been influenced by the dense population of werewolves that had lived in the woods until a few years ago.

Geralt was patient with him, much more so than he usually was when they were on the road together and Jaskier had to fill the silence.

But after a long time of slowly blinking up at the blathering bard he cupped the back of Jaskier's head again and pulled him down into a kiss, then another. Until they were languidly making out, taking their time as their bodies slowly cooled down. Silence fell over them again but this time Jaskier could bear it much more easily.

~

They left the tub once the water was cold enough to send unpleasant shivers up Jaskier's spine that not even the soothing heat of the witcher's body could protect him from. Freshly dressed and back in their room the first thing Jaskier did was find a mirror to inspect the bandages Geralt had wrapped around his neck before their tub adventure.

They were stained again, some blood reaching the upper layers. But the pain was merely an afterthought and he could tolerate some stains and having to switch the bandages again, considering what he had gained in return. That had definitely not been an opportunity he would have wanted to push back until his wounds were better healed. Besides, Jaskier was a firm believer that a happy mind could help a wounded body heal. And his mind was indeed very happy at the moment.

"I should change them", Geralt murmured somewhere behind him and when their eyes met in the mirror Jaskier could see the crease between his pale eyebrows. Worry, maybe even some guilt. Heart warming. And unnecessary.

"Didn't you tell me earlier you would _not_ change them again?"

"If you got them wet I wouldn't. That now is my..."

Before Geralt had a chance to finish his sentence Jaskier whirled around and took a few quick steps towards him. Not in a threatening way, he would never be able to threaten a man like Geralt, no matter how hard he tried, but he still made sure his displeased expression was obvious.

"Do not finish that sentence", he said and his voice was firm as though he had just given a command. A moment later though the shapes of his body softened as he almost closed the gap between them completely. "It's not your fault and I'm _fine_. Definitely more than I was before that bath..."

A wink, a secretive grin, and he could watch Geralt's defensively raised shoulders sag. The witcher should know by now that arguing with Jaskier would never get him very far. As much as the bard followed barked orders and warnings during battle, for the sake of his own life, as stubborn could he be when it came to literally anything else.

When no answer came after the less stern and more playful warning Jaskier continued on to what had been at the back of his mind since they climbed out of that tub. One of the main reasons he had never seriously considered doing anything like this with Geralt of all people.

Because sure, those moments between them had been incredibly hot and soothing and even somewhat sweet ... but where would they go from here? Jaskier couldn't just leave like he usually would in this situation.

But slowly he was beginning to understand that maybe ... he didn't want to this time.

"So, how much longer are we paying for this room?", he asked and was aware that the feigned levity in his voice did not completely carry the words. Nor did it hide the depth behind the question completely.

"You should rest a few days."

As much as Jaskier appreciated the low concern behind the words it was not exactly an answer to his question. But the way Geralt looked at him and then, pointedly, stopped looking at him, made the bard grin. He took one last step forward, almost sauntering as he closed the remaining distance.

Maybe it was not the same playful banter he liked to indulge in with the noble men he bedded. But in a way this was even more fun, the swaying back and forth that had always existed between them. The way Geralt’s annoyance with him never seemed completely honest. The way he tried to push Jaskier away only for his endearing concern to break through in some other way he had not guarded as closely.

"And while I rest my heroic mind and mangled body on these luxurious linens", he gestured towards the bed with its stained, scratchy sheets, "you will be off living the witcher life? Saving princesses, slaying monsters. Bedding whores along the road..."

A quiet scoff as Geralt rolled his eyes. That annoyance that seemed just a little too forced. Jaskier smirked as he reached up to wind his arms around the witcher's neck. For a moment the muscles under his fingers tensed as he caressed the linen shirt falling over broad shoulders and then folded his hands behind Geralt's back. He thought Geralt would shrug his arms off and step away.

But then those furrowed brows relaxed just like the shoulders and a faint curiosity flicked across his expression. Strong arms stayed crossed over a broad chest but Jaskier did not mind. He still leaned closer, rose up to the tips of his toes.

"Or would you rather stay with me? Keep me company as I heal from my horrendous injury? You know, the one I earned defending your horse..."

It was meant to be a teasing jab but when Geralt's expression darkened with unwelcome guilt Jaskier pressed on, leaning even closer until their foreheads were almost touching, voice dropping into a low purr. His heart rate was already picking up again as he tasted the risky words at the tip of his tongue.

"You could bed me instead. Let me tell you I’m rather talented at spreading my legs as well. What you got in that bath was only a taste and I bet you'd be surprised at what else you could find out..."

"I wouldn't."

Now it was Jaskier's turn to furrow his brows, pulling back enough so he could look at Geralt whose lips were curved into the most subtle of smiles. It was unfairly attractive, this almost cocky expression.

“What?”

Strong arms uncrossed to wind around his waist and pull him closer until their bodies were flush once again and Jaskier could feel a familiar, dizzying heat rise up into his face.

"Be surprised. I've thought about it many times. I many ways."

"About ... about bedding me? You thought about that before?"

Where his voice had been a seductive, low purr just a moment ago, it was pitching higher now, almost embarrassingly so as he stared at Geralt. At that cocky, almost boyish smirk that made him look so much younger than he usually seemed.

A low hum Jaskier could feel vibrate in his own chest was the only answer he got before the witcher leaned down to claim his lips again.

The bard had no idea what made him more dizzy: the deep, all consuming kiss that had him melting into the witcher's arms or the fact that Geralt had already thought about taking him to bed often enough he thought there was no possible scenario left for Jaskier to surprise him with.

But that was an interesting challenge if he ever heard one, a challenge he would love to rise to and figure out just how many things the man currently licking into his mouth had imagined about him before.

Most of all though it was a challenge Jaskier was sure to be facing soon, if the way Geralt pulled him close and sighed against his lips was anything to go by. He did not need a verbal response to his cocky invitation. Not when Geralt was already speaking to him loud and clear.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](https://fenfyre.tumblr.com/) or my [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/fenfyre)


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